


Geas

by Lunik



Category: Thor (2011), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-21
Updated: 2011-08-21
Packaged: 2017-10-22 21:50:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunik/pseuds/Lunik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The young Charles Xavier isn’t sure yet whether he believes in mutants. How is he supposed to react to a Norse god making him an offer?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Geas

The first time Charles Xavier meets Loki Odinsson, he is seventeen, and has just realised that getting a position in Oxford may take more than his family’s money. This is an unfortunate revelation for him, but Charles has never been one to turn down an opportunity to prove himself.

He is writing his fourth essay that week, this one on genetics to prove his basic understanding of the subject he wishes to study. It’s not going well (he recognises that it would be a bad idea to talk about telepaths and shape-shifting sisters) and the pile of books around him is high enough that he doesn’t see the stranger approach until the seat beside him is filled.

His eyes widen. “Did you just sit down without saying anything?” he asks in astonishment. The question is odd, but what he really means is _did you just walk in and sit next to me without my hearing a single thought from your head?_ The stranger is tall, about eight or nine years older than Charles with dark hair and an unreadable expression. And, even when Charles reaches for him to see what’s behind those green eyes, he hears nothing. The effect is intriguing and not a little frightening.

Then the stranger smiles. “Yes, I’m sorry, that was terribly rude of me,” he says, and offers his hand for Charles to shake. “My name is Friggajarsson, Luke. How do you do?”

Charles takes the offered hand uncertainly. “Charles Xavier,” he says, and Luke nods as if he already knew. He leans back in the seat, tilted at an angle to where Charles sits, and crosses one leg over the other to better observe him. (It’s the first time Charles has noticed a man sit in such a feminine posture, and that makes him think of third genders and the essay on roman sexuality he wrote two weeks ago. And _that_ excites him, because it’s the first time since he was six that he’s had to use body language to discern how someone makes him feel.)

“I hear you’re entering into Oxford next year?” he says, and Charles struggles with the thought of small talk without the insight of his telepathy.

“Er, yes. I hope to read the sciences, sir.”

“I have no doubt you’ll go far.” The man sounds sure of himself, like he’s stating fact instead of speculation. Charles wonders if this is what everyone sounds like when you can’t hear what they really mean. “It certainly is a boost to your learning abilities when you can hear the thoughts of your fellow students. The professors too, I expect that will be useful.”

Charles can’t help himself; his jaw drops. He propels himself to his feet, scrabbling to pick up his books and papers. “I’m sorry, you must be mistaken. I can’t do anything like that, it’s impossible. It was nice to meet you, mister Frigg-”

As he stumbles over the name Luke gives a soft laugh, and Charles feels tendrils of smoke in his mind. _Charles, sit down,_ says Luke’s voice, not thinking, not projecting his thoughts until Charles hears them, but speaking mind-to-mind. Charles sits without a second thought, and stares.

“Are you... Are you like me?”

“No, Charles.” Luke’s smile is gentle, but it breaks Charles’ heart. “I’m nothing like you, something else entirely. But it may interest you to learn that you and your sister are far from alone.” He nods to the books on genetics that Charles has knocked askew in his hurry to escape. “As you would no doubt have realised yourself, given a few more years. The human race could hardly evolve with only the two of you.”

Charles has hardly begun to have the first inklings of a theory, but to hear his own thoughts parroted back to him is a vindication greater than any he could have asked for. “So there are more? Is there some kind of organisation, a place we can go? Who’s leading them?”

“No, Charles. I think you’re all a little young to be organised. If you want that, you’ll be expected to do it yourself. I believe you are... worthy of this responsibility.”

Charles is a seventeen year old telepath who only ever wanted to discover something true. But when Luke tells him he can change the world, Charles believes him.

“Or you will be, when you have grown. Charles, if you’ll allow me, I would give you a gift.” His voice is earnest, and his eyes sober above the faint smile. It feels to Charles as though Luke is offering him more than a _gift,_ but his mind is so closed to Charles’ power that all he can do is search his face with a question. Luke reaches forward to twitch the paper out of Charles’ hands, the tight handwritten pages of Charles’ essay. “This is trite and poorly informed. An Oxford admissions officer won’t be impressed by genetic disorders, I’m afraid.”

Charles blinks, ready to protest, but Luke lays a heavy book on the desk in front of him. _The Neanderthal Legacy,_ about the mutation from Homo Neanderthalensis to the current form of human life, Homo Sapiens. “Do yourself a favour,” Luke continues, “write about mutation instead. That should catch someone’s interest.”

On instinct, Charles flips the cover of the book. It doesn’t belong to the library. “Is this...?”

“The book is my gift to you. Keep it, I hope you’ll find it useful. And one more, to give you some idea why I might offer you a gift.”

The second book is smaller, illustrated, but not a children’s book. A set of poetic Eddas, Charles read them once before. Poems about gods. Charles looks back up at Luke’s storm-green eyes, unreadable, and he is struck by the realisation like lightning that this mind is not blank, like he thought. It is deep, wide and alien. Charles can’t read it, can’t see his thoughts any more than a fish can see the ocean in which it swims. This man is something other, and Charles knows the name Luke Friggajarson is a convenient fiction.

His breath quickens. “You want me to... lead people like me.”

The not-a-man’s smile brightens, pleased that Charles understands. “Your people believe themselves to be alone, Charles. Teach them they’re wrong. Make yourselves an island, apart from the rest of the human race. Then bring yourselves to me. I will protect you, Charles.”

Charles feels the warmth bubbling in his throat, that someone like Luke, Loki would offer his protection, but... Something holds him back, cautious. “What would you ask in return?”

“Nothing you wouldn’t choose to give. Loyalty in exchange for favour, I believe that’s how these things work.” Charles glances involuntarily down at the book under his hands. Nothing more than loyalty for the favour of a god. “What’s yours will be mine, and I will see to it that no harm comes to you. What do you say, Charles?”

“Yes,” he says, grinning so hard he threatens to break. “I say yes.”

\---

The second time Charles Xavier meets Loki Odinsson, years have passed. Charles doesn’t know it, but it is the eve of war. He is sitting with Erik on the steps, their chessboard between them like an overcautious barrier (It’s not that he doesn’t trust himself with the man, not truly, but why take chances and break his heart?), when a strange familiar form sits next to him on the stone.

Erik glances up, annoyed and dismissive at the interruption, but Charles has felt no one approach, and whirls in place to stare. Loki has not changed in almost ten years, not aged a day, and Charles feels again that sense of drowning in his presence. It’s much clearer now that Charles’ powers have grown. “It’s you!” is all he can gasp out.

“Hello, Charles.” Loki’s tone is casual and pleasant, and Erik’s eyes flick back and forth between the two of them. “You’re looking well.”

“You’re looking... exactly the same as you did last time.” Caught dumbfounded, Charles entirely forgets to make introductions until Loki leans across him to offer a hand to Erik.

“Loki Odinsson,” he says, and Charles lets out a little shuddering breath. Loki raises an eyebrow at him. “You hadn’t worked that out?”

“No, I... I did, I just wasn’t sure I was allowed to believe it.” He lets a sheepish smile touch his lips.

“What,” Loki says with a wry smile, “now that your friends worship the god of Abraham, you’re not allowed to believe in Aesir?”

He darts a look at Erik, who is looking deeply suspicious, but who doesn’t speak. “It isn’t that so much as... I had half convinced myself that you weren’t real. A memory misfire, brought on by sleep deprivation during exams.”

Loki’s laugh is rich and soothing, and he arranges himself comfortably on the steps. “No, it was real, Charles. Do you remember the promises we made to each other?”

Charles winces to hear how that sounds, like Loki is a long lost lover, and his head turns automatically to look at Erik’s face. The scowl there could mean anything.

“I have to say, I’m pleased with how far you’ve come. Those children you’ve found needed you, Charles. You’ve done well to bring them all together.”

And now Charles can’t bear to look at Erik at all. He had no ulterior motive for gathering these people, nothing beyond showing them that they weren’t alone, giving them the chance at a better future, and Loki knows that. Erik’s head is still filled with thoughts of identification and tattooed serial numbers. Loki must know that too.

“Like I said,” he tries weakly, “I forgot we ever met. What I said back then was true – I do want what’s best for these mutants, but, ah... a promise?”

“Of course you want what’s best for them, Charles, I never doubted that,” says Loki soothingly. “I admire your dedication. And since you have so admirably kept up your end of the bargain, I am here to fulfil mine.” Charles racks his brain, trying to remember what passed between them that day in the library. It was something he’d always attributed to an exhausted mind, and he couldn’t remember any promises being made. He reaches out to look into Loki’s memory, but can’t grip it. Since he was seventeen, he’s thought about Loki only once, in Cerebro; _with this machine I might be big enough to see all his mind._ Small as Charles is now, Loki is a locked door.

Erik finally straightens. “What bargain?” he asks mildly, and it’s not immediately obvious whether he’s asking Charles or Loki. Charles answers anyway.

“I’m, er... I’m not really sure.” He shoots an apologetic look at the god who entered his life at seventeen only to be forgotten.

But Loki only smiles. “You remember, Charles. What’s yours will be mine, and I protect what is... mine.”

Is his smile truly predatory, or is that only Charles’ imagination, his instinct for body language off after so many years of being able to just _know_ what a person was thinking? He could look to Erik, try to see Loki through his eyes, but he can’t bear to see the suspicion of just a moment ago turned on him. Did he really promise Loki so much?

Not so much. He swallows. “What’s mine is... really not so inspiring, my friend. I’ve only recently left the university; I don’t own very much at all.”

“Nonsense, you are at the very least the owner of your mother’s house.” Leaning back on his elbows, Loki breaks gaze with Charles to look on the horizon. The light catches in his eyes, something like a cat, and then he blinks and the late afternoon makes him seem so human. “And although I would happily protect that if I thought it necessary, this was never about the things you own, Charles. It’s about your people. You must know by now that a war is on its way. I can keep your people safe, and with my favour I can assure you victory.”

Charles has no intention of accepting a coming war. “Loki, my friend... What’s mine is yours, I can agree to this, but... I can’t _give_ you the loyalty of another person.”

Loki’s face doesn’t change. Charles isn’t sure if he senses or imagines the faint crackle in the air that surrounds him. “Oh? While they are yours, Charles, their loyalty is to you.”

“No one here is mine, Loki.”

At this, Loki does turn, sardonic smile on his lips. “You don’t think they’re yours. Not your students, your sister, your lover? Not your allies? They will follow you, Charles, you already knew this. And so long as you follow me, I’ll keep what you love closest to my heart.”

“I... that’s very generous.” He swallows, his throat dry. “But I can’t make promises for the people who love me.”

“This war will lay them to waste.”

“Are you... I’m sorry, are you threatening me?”

“Charles, I am telling you now that you will wish you had accepted my offer. For the sake of your people.” Loki sounds sincere, sounds so sincere, and his brow is knitted with worry, but Charles just can’t read his _mind._

“I believe you,” he all but whispers, “and I would give you everything I am, my friend, but this is an offer you will need to make to each of them in turn. I can’t give you an answer for them.”

Loki looks him in the eye, searches his soul for long seconds before leaning back. “I see,” he says sadly. “That’s disappointing.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Erik Lensherr.” Erik leans forward at his name, and Charles finally risks a look at the other man. His face is so blank Charles has to restrain himself from reaching out. “Perhaps you will allow me to give you a gift.”

“In return for...?”

“It’s a gift given freely, Erik. You have spent your life searching for a man named Klaus Schmidt?”

Erik nods cautiously. “Sebastian Shaw.”

“That too. I’ve arranged for CIA operatives to come into knowledge of his whereabouts. You’ll be called in for a briefing later today, perhaps tomorrow.” Charles can’t miss his friend’s quickened breath, the thud of his own heart. “It will take time, but I guarantee this will lead you to him.”

Erik licks his lips. “And if I refuse the gift?” Loki waves a hand dismissively and rises to his feet.

“It’s already done. No point in refusing it now. Erik, this is a _gift,_ not payment for a service. Ask Charles.” Erik looks to him, but Charles’ attention is all on Loki. The god from his childhood returned to call in a promised favour and Charles refused him. All he wants is to take it back, but he knows that this is not in his power to give.

“Loki...” he whispers, and Loki leans down to press a kiss to the crown of his head, like an indulgent father to a wayward child.

“Charles. If ever you should change your mind, I will forgive you.”

Charles doesn’t speak, doesn’t say a word, all words out of reach.

\---

 _Loki does not brook defiance. Loki does not calmly accept broken promises._

 _He expresses concern to his friend Sebastian, what if the ships choose not to fire? What if the Soviets change their mind? Wouldn’t it be wise to have a backup plan? There are other ways to ensure the destruction of the ships._

 _He walks among army chiefs and the director of the CIA. He warns them that an unknown danger lurks just out of sight, gone unnoticed in the war, and they can’t show mercy when the time comes. A quick strike, pre-emptive, and they’ll be safe._

 _He whispers in Moira’s ear what she already knows. That if one of her mutant charges goes rogue, it’s her responsibility and duty to shoot them in the head. As an added measure, he lets that phrase stick in her mind, just to be sure that the first shot fired will ricochet off the helmet instead of ending it there._

 _When Charles lies bleeding and heartbroken in the sand, then he will understand what it is to refuse a god._

\---

The first time Charles Xavier meets Loki Laufeysson, he is old, and the world has not treated him well. And he is ready to accept the offer.


End file.
